


Feels Real

by redcandle17



Series: Something Real [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Frottage, Knifeplay, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/pseuds/redcandle17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A recently captured Toast is guarded by Slit, who isn't above playing with a treasure destined for Immortan Joe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Real

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a request for Slit and knifeplay at the Mad Max Kink Meme as well as a different request about Slit being one of War Boys who captured Toast and this formed in my terrible, terrible head. I'm so sorry. Special hell, here I come.

It isn’t quite real yet. Toast is in a daze. Her family is gone; some dead, some put in a vehicle that drove off in a different direction. She’s alone with this pack of demon men who paint themselves bone white. She should be afraid, but she doesn’t feel anything. Not anything at all. 

She’s safe enough for the time being, though. Whatever interest they’d had in her had been quickly quelled by one who seemed to outrank the others. “She’s a full life as well as shiny. Immortan will want her,” he’d told the other men. She didn’t know what they meant by ‘full life’ and ‘shiny’ but she understood loud and clear that she was intended as a prize for someone higher-ranking. 

It’s a long enough distance away from wherever they came from that they stop for the night a few hours after raiding her home. She eats the food and drinks the water they give her without tasting any of it. She’s lifted up into the back of a truck and one of her ankles is shackled to the side of the vehicle by a long chain. That’s to prevent her from trying to escape. There’s also a guard posted in the back of the truck with her. That’s to prevent any of the men from disobeying the order to leave her unspoiled for this Immortan of theirs. 

She doesn’t sleep exactly, but she dozes enough that she’s roused when the guard shift changes later in the night. The moon is very high in the sky and there’s little sound. Most of the men are asleep, sprawled in and around their war vehicles. 

Toast can feel the new guard watching her. They’d all looked alike to her earlier, but now she notices that this one has bits of metal piercing his cheeks. She can see the glint of it in the moonlight. She sees the same shine of light on metal when he slips a knife from a sheath on his arm. 

He crawls towards her and she should be afraid, but Toast still can’t feel anything. He touches the flat of the blade to her cheek. This close, Toast can see that there are scars starting at the corners of his mouth and running up both cheeks. She can’t bring herself to care that he might give her the same kind of scars. 

He makes this sound, something between a grunt and a masculine sigh, and Toast feels again. Rather than any of the things she should be feeling, however, she feels only dark amusement. The leader of this little war band should have chosen his guards more carefully. _”You don’t set a fox to guard a henhouse,”_ her old Gran used to say. 

He dips his head into the curve where her shoulder meets her neck and she can feel his breath on her skin. She expects to feel a kiss or a lick or even a nuzzle, but he isn’t doing anything. No, he is, she realizes. He’s sniffing her. 

When he raises his head, his gaze catches hers and that permanent grin on his face grows wider. He slides the knife lower and turns it so that now it’s the thin edge that’s resting against her throat. Slowly, carefully, he moves the knife from one side of her neck to the other. Miming slitting her throat. “Do it,” she wants to tell him. She already knows that death would be preferable to whatever they have planned for her. 

Maybe she can… Toast grabs at the hand holding the knife and tries to press it down. He’s quick, though, and strong. He turns the blade aside before it can bite into her flesh, and then he pins her wrists together above her head in one of his much larger hands. He laughs quietly. He’s amused or perhaps excited by her attempt to end her life by his hand. 

He shifts on top of her and settles himself between her legs. Toast was expecting him to get there eventually, but she isn’t sure what he thinks he can do with her clothes on and his pants up. The tip of the knife is at the hollow of her collarbone. He drags it down the center of her chest until the neckline of her tunic prevents it from going any lower. 

He growls, perhaps frustrated he dare not cut her clothing off and do everything he likes. He’s rocking against her. Toast can feel him and she really, really wishes she still couldn’t feel anything. Not because it feels awful. Just the opposite. It feels good. She really wishes it didn’t. She hopes he gets off fast. Because if he keeps doing what he’s doing, he’s going to get her off and that might be the worst of all the things that have happened today. 

So when he presses the flat of the blade to her lips, Toast opens her mouth and licks it, thinking it will excite him into orgasm. He groans and grinds against her more desperately. She’s surprised when he tosses aside the knife, and even more surprised when he kisses her. Perhaps he thinks she wants this now, that she wants him and he doesn’t need the knife to intimidate her. Or perhaps playing with the knife was his idea of foreplay. Whatever. He’s about to make her come, and Toast can’t let that happen. She will not come for him. She’d never forgive herself. 

Toast bites his lip. She bites hard and she can taste blood, but he doesn’t break away from her. He does release her hands and Toast goes crazy slapping and clawing at his shoulders and chest. Too late she realizes he probably likes it and she stops but he’s moaning and collapsing on her. Now that he’s no longer supporting his weight, she can feel how big and heavy he is. Worse, she can feel his heart beating. It’s an intimacy she doesn’t want, not with this stranger about whom the only thing she knows is that he’s a bad man. 

“Shiny,” he whispers, the first thing either of them has said.

That word again. Toast wants to know what it means, but she will not speak to him. She lies still and quiet, not even attempting to push him away lest it gets him started all over again. 

Finally he rolls off her and snatches up his knife before crawling back to the other side of the truck. He sits there flipping the knife in the air and catching it, humming to himself. Toast tries not to watch him. 

The man who comes to take over guard duty doesn’t suspect anything. He’s a lousy guard in an entirely different sort of way - he almost immediately goes to sleep. 

Toast watches the sky as the stars disappear, as it gets darker and then slowly lighter and lighter until the sun rises huge and orange. By the time the unnaturally white men wake and begin shouting at each other as they prepare to return to the road, Toast has managed to cease feeling again.


End file.
